


Status quo

by Builder



Series: Canon ships and all that jazz [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Started off as a drabble, Vomiting, so here it is, that's literally all there is, then people wanted me to continue it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 03:52:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13895658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: Clint doesn't get to spend a lot of time at home.  He hates to waste it being sick.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1 was something ridiculous I posted on Tumblr. Chapter 2 was the result of chapter 1's surprising popularity. Find me on Tumblr @builder051
> 
> I write a fair amount of Clint and Laura separately as side characters in my Captain America fics, so it only follows that i should write them together.

Clint wakes with a jolt and immediately snaps into a half-crunch.  He hovers a few inches over his pillow and scans the bedroom for danger.  The shadows seem to be still, and he’s confused when he flops back to the mattress.  

Laura groans quietly beside him.

“Sorry,” Clint whispers.  He scrubs one hand over his face.  Now that the adrenaline is fading, he feels warm.  Overly warm.  Sweat prickles on his upper lip and dampens his t-shirt.  A twinge of nausea rises in his chest.  Clint takes a deep, slow breath.  He has a good idea of why he’s awake now.  

He quells a belch behind his fist and holds onto a last shred of hope the feeling of sickness will pass.  But saliva floods over his tongue, and it becomes clear there’s no ignoring this.  

Clint tosses his legs over the side of the bed and takes off for the ensuite.  

“What’s wrong?” Laura asks sleepily after him.

He can’t answer.  He has to clap a hand over his mouth to keep from retching all over the floor.  

Clint flings himself down over the toilet as his dinner makes a reappearance.  He catches the toilet seat in the dark, and he curses as he coughs.  He gags again and settles for not putting his elbow in the mess.

“Hey.  You ok?”  Laura’s hand presses against the back of his neck and cards up through his hair.  The touch feels cold against his skin, and goose bumps erupt down his arms.

“I’m good,” Clint pants.  “I’m…I’m great.”  He spits out a mouthful of mucous and bile.  

Laura kneels beside him.  “No, you’re not.”

“Naw…”  Clint rides out another wave of queasiness.  “Fucking nauseous.”

Laura hums sympathetically and rubs Clint’s back as he heaves again.  “You’re gonna be alright,” she murmurs.

“Hm.”  Clint makes to wipe his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Hey.  Don’t do that.”  Laur pats his shoulder and gets to her feet.  “Hold on for a sec.”  She returns with a damp washcloth.

Clint’s hands shake as he drags it over his face.  “Thanks,” he mutters.  Then he sighs.  “Sorry for…waking you up.”

“It’s ok.”  Laura takes back the washcloth and swipes it over the toilet seat.  “I love you a little bit.”

“A little bit, huh?”

“Mm.  Maybe more than a little bit.”  Laura throws the dirty cloth into the sink.  “You want a drink?  Or something to rinse with?”

Nausea sits heavily in Clint’s throat.  “I, uh… I don’t think I’m done,” he says.

“Ok,” Laura says with a sigh.  She slips her fingers under Clint’s jaw.  “You feel warm.”

The overwhelming heat from earlier is dissolving into chills.  A fever makes sense.  He would nod or say something, but all he can do is lean back over the toilet bowl as he throws up again.

“Alright.  It’s ok,” Laura soothes.  She rubs circles into Clint’s back again.  

“You don’t have to stay.  You can…go back to bed,” Clint chokes when he finally finds his breath.  

“In a little bit,” Laura murmurs.  “Someone’s gotta watch out for you.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Clint?” Laura’s slippers scuff against the tile floor as she comes up behind him again. 

He’s been curled around the toilet for hours by now. He’s got to be a cause of worry and annoyance. 

“Just…go back to bed, honey,” Clint chokes. 

The urge to gag sits on the back of his tongue. He’s dry heaved at least a dozen times, but his body’s showing no signs of stopping. Clammy perspiration drips down his temple, and Clint releases the toilet seat to wipe it with the back of his hand. With only one arm to brace himself, Clint’s core strength vanishes, and he lists dangerously to the side. 

“Shit,” he whispers. He scrabbles to hold onto something, but the motion makes him want to throw up again. 

“Ok, here.” Laura grabs him under the arms and supports him back over the toilet bowl. Her hands feel freezing through his sweat-damp t-shirt.

Goosebumps burst over his skin at the same time as stars begin to flash in the corners of his vision. Clint spits out a string of mucous. 

“Ugh. Thanks,” he groans. “Sorry. I’m alright.” 

“Sure you are,” Laura says. “I have no reason at all not to believe you…” She lets out a sarcastic breath that could maybe have been a laugh if she wasn’t so obviously concerned. And maybe a little pissed. 

“Go back to bed,” Clint mutters around a wet cough. “There’s…no reason for us both to be up all night.” 

Laura doesn’t loosen her grip. “When’s the last time you actually brought something up?” 

“I don’t know…” He’s exhausted. Time’s blurring together. All he knows is that he feels like shit. 

“You’re really dehydrated.” 

“Uh huh…” He honestly doesn’t care. 

“You need to try some water,” Laura says. “Even if you throw it back up, it’ll keep you from drying out.” 

“I don’t…I don’t know if I can swallow.” Spit pools in Clint’s mouth and drips from his lower lip. He takes a shaky breath and prays he doesn’t retch. 

“Then we need to start thinking about the ER. This seems really bad for just a bug.” Laura presses one hand over the back of Clint’s neck. “You’re burning up.” 

“I’ll be ok—” Clint tries to assure her, but he cuts himself up with a sick belch. “And you can’t leave the kids.” 

“I’ll call Nat to drive your ass to the ER,” Laura threatens. “Or she can stay with the kids.” 

“Oh, geez.” If they do that, they’ll come home to an explosion of doughnuts and new toys. Kids with a sugar high… It’s definitely not what he needs today.

He coughs a few times and whispers, “I think I’ll chance the water.” 

“Will you fall over if I stand up?” Laura asks. 

“No,” Clint says with as much confidence as he can muster. 

“Alright. I’ll believe you.” Laura fills a paper cup with water from the sink. “If this goes down ok, I’ll get you some Pedialyte from downstairs.” 

“Joy,” Clint mutters. 

“It doesn’t taste that bad,” Laura says. 

She hovers over Clint’s shoulder, then and folds a freshly dampened washcloth over the back of his neck as she hands over the water. He’s shaking almost too hard to bring it to his lips, and the chill from the compress isn’t helping.

“Fucking cold,” he complains. 

“Well, with that fever and everything…” Laura shakes her head. “You’re scaring me a little bit.” 

If Clint’s completely honest, it’s scaring him a little bit too. But he’s more tired than anything else. The one sip of water he’s managed so far sits uncomfortably in his stomach, and he leans back over the toilet to wait out the inevitable. 

“I’ll be ok,” he whispers, as much to himself as to his wife. “I’ll be ok.”


End file.
